Steps
by Wholocked221
Summary: John Winchester remembered vividly seeing his little Sammy tottering into Dean's arms. So when he died, and a part of his spirit lingered, he watched his youngest take his last steps into the arms of his oldest, a mirror-image of the event roughly 20 years earlier.


**AN: I got bored and this sort of happen. I probably fudged dates and I wrote these journal entries. John is a very controversial character to write, really tough, so I hope I did him justice. I never thought this would happen but... here you go!**

**Disclaimer: Just borrowing Kripke's toys!**

**Spoilers: End of Season 2**

**Enjoy!**

**OoOoOoOoOoO **

_1984_

_May 2_

John lifted his pen from the page, millimeters. How did he put what he was feeling into words. It was a monumental day for his youngest, his little Sammy, but he hadn't been a part of it, like a father should. _Mary would have been there,_ a voice in the back of his head whispered. _Mary would have been the one baby Sammy toddled to when he took his first steps. She would have been an excellent mother..._ His thoughts trailed off. The darkest parts of his mind dredged up another thought. _If she'd had the chance._ He swallowed. He couldn't afford to get emotional now. He couldn't allow that. Now that he knew what was out there, what was waiting in the dark to snap up his boys and kill whoever caught it's eyes, he couldn't afford to let emotion cloud his judgement. Others had to be spared from the pain his family had been put through. He had to finish off the monsters lurking in the dark. With a deep breath, he lowered the pen.

_Today was Samuel John Winchester's 1st birthday. I should have been there for him. Of course I should have been there for him! What kind of father misses his son's first birthday? My kind, apparently. It was one of my first hunts. A wendigo. It got me in the shoulder, because I was thinking of them. Of Sammy and Dean. I can't have emotions anymore. I can't let them cloud my judgement. Someone could get hurt; it might even be me. Something else happened today, Sam's first birthday Something else that Mary Winchester never got to see. Another thing the kid never got to have a mother for. _

_Sammy took his first steps today. He walked towards Dean._

_He toddled towards that four-year-old boy, the look on his face like a child at Christmas, giggling and squawking "Dea! Dea!" over and over. And Dean... Dean was so proud of his baby brother._

_Dean has been such a huge help since Mary's... passing. Even though he's young, a four-year-old boy who has already lost so much, he's truly taken my words to heart. Protect your brother. Take care of your brother. Save Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. He cares about Sam, truthfully. Even though he's still so young, he's being there for my youngest. When Sammy took his first steps today, when he stumbled towards Dean, I remember him not even taking a glance at me, eyes on his older brother. Eyes only _for _his older brother. His Dean.__  
><em>

_They'll be close. I can tell._

John lowered his pen. The door to his room in their current motel was cracked, and when he looked up, he could hear the gurgling sounds of Sam calling out and chattering - "Dea! Dea! De-ea!" which had happened to be his first word - and Dean encouraging him. He sighed again, the breath slipping between his slightly parted lips. He slipped the pen into his pocket, one hand still resting on the open pages of his journal, already beginning to fill with entries. Suddenly, the little blonde Dean Winchester - hair already darkening - appeared, face alight with pride for his little brother and his best friend. "Daddy!" he crowed, bouncing up and down on his heels. "Daddy, come see what Sammy can do! He can walk now! Come and see!" He was insistent, the little boy bouncing and beginning to move towards his father sitting on the bed in the middle of the room. John closed the journal, removing his hand and leaving it resting on the bed. He stood up with a groan, stretching his muscles out before he met his toddler halfway. He scooped Dean up, ruffling his mop of hair. "Alright, Dean-o," he promised. "Let's go see what little Sammy's getting up to, right?" He plastered a smile on his face at Dean's excitement, but inside, his heart was heavy.

**OoOoOoOoOoO**

_2007_

_May 2_

Part of John had wanted to stay behind when he had died, when his deal had been fulfilled. It was for more than one reason, one of them selfish. He wanted to stay behind because he didn't want to go to Hell. Another reason that he wanted to stay behind was to, partially, watch over his boys. But what he saw that day, one of Sam's birthdays, another one that he'd missed, had made him wish that he hadn't.

He knew it was coming. Call it a father's sixth sense, but he _knew_ he didn't like Jake. It was something about the kid that his spirit rebelled against. He wanted to shout at Sammy to _get away, get away from him, don't trust him_ but he couldn't. He wasn't even present as a spirit, simply a pale imitation of a ghost. He couldn't even give Sam a sign. He was locked away from any form of communication. Sam had always been tall after he'd had his growth spurt, and he absolutely towered over Jake, the weapon clenched in his fist. Holding the power of life and death in his hands, Sam didn't look like Sam. He looked like a cold-blooded, merciless weapon that would kill without question and murder without a second thought. A ghostly hand clenched on John's heart. His little Sammy, in that moment, was a weapon. Exactly what John had raised him to be.

He wasn't actually that anymore, was he? Sam wasn't John's Sam anymore. If anything, he was Dean's. It was Dean who had been there, had patched up the scraped knees, gave the goodnight kisses, wrapped the birthday presents, and made the pies every May the 2nd he could. Sammy was Dean's.

But quickly, that moment was gone. Dean's Sammy was once again Sammy.

John couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in his stomach when Sam stood above the kid - because that's what they were, in John's eyes. Children. Children who shouldn't have to be put through this. Children who should be going to college, getting married, getting careers, starting families. Not starting this un-winnable battle. Not being murdered by Azazel. Not being his handmade weapons. - and dropped his steel weapon. The pride rising in his chest was quickly squashed by fear and anger and the wretched terror. If he'd had blood, it would have run cold. This Jake was dangerous. He knew there were bad things in store for his boys if he killed Jake, but there was also horrible things awaiting Sam Winchester if he did. If he had lowered that weapon into Jake's heart. _Oh, Sammy,_ John whispered, his voice not even audible, not even a whisper on the wind. His words would never be heard by anyone but him.

One arm wrapped around his waist, Sam turned. And he began to walk away from Jake, leaving him alive. He wouldn't give in to Azazel demands, John knew. Sam wasn't that kind of person. Suddenly, a shout rang out through the abandoned ghost of a town. A single name, shouted, it's owner's voice tense and wrought with worry. It took Sam seconds to recognize, possibly even less than that. Approaching the sound, Sam was almost hesitant. It was as if he didn't want to allow himself to hope, because what if it wasn't? What if it wasn't who he thought it was? He'd be crushed again. As John Winchester watched the gears in Sam's head turn, two figures appeared from the direction his youngest was heading. The second time the voice called out, just one word, just Sam's name, Sam knew. he could see the owner of the voice. It was his brother, Dean. John felt his heart snap at the representation of the bond between his two boys. The look on his face mirrored the expression he'd worn when he'd taken those uncertain few first steps towards his brother: a child on Christmas.

The kid-on-Christmas-morning look still on his face, Sam began walking towards his brother, hope giving a slight bounce to his step. Dean. Dean was here, John knew he was thinking. Dean was always there. Dean would always come to save him. Caught up in the moment, Sam didn't notice. And neither did John. John noticed that Jake was awake, that he was moving, that his fingers were closing around a steel weapon, seconds too late.

It wasn't as if he could have done anything about it, anyway.

_"Dean,"_ Sam called, the look on his face morphing to pure, unadulterated relief. Because his big brother was here. His superhero. Dean noticed the movement, too. Just like John, Dean noticed it moments too late. To far away to be any help, no gun in his hand, Dean Winchester couldn't do anything but yell. To close but to far away, unable to talk to his son, to warn him, John Winchester couldn't do anything.

Sam took one last step towards his brother. Towards Dean.

_"Sam, look out!"_ The was only the briefest moment of confusion on Sam's face before the dagger plunged into his back. All of the feeling, all of the blood, and all of the emotion ran out of John's body. Sam. Sam. Not Sammy. Anyone but Dean's little Sammy. Panic was the only way to describe Dean's face as he sprinted towards his brother. Panic and anguish and an explosion of worry. That was his child he'd just seen stabbed. His baby. His Sammy. _"No!"_ Sam, too slow, too slow, but not slow enough, sunk to his knees onto the cold, hard packed ground. Dean rushed forward, gathering his baby brother into his arms, quick enough, but too slow. Too slow to save him. Too slow to save Sammy. But he sure as Hell, John knew, wouldn't let Sam d- He wouldn't let Sam go alone.

_"Sam. Sam. Sam, hey."_ That's all John wanted to do, to gather his son into his arms. To hold him tight and whisper _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry it'll be okay, Sammy it'll be okay._ Dean seemed to do it for him. _"I'm gonna take care of you. I'm gonna take car of you. I gotcha. It's my job,_ _right?"_ John felt a stab of pain in his heart. That's what he'd told him to do. Year, and years, decades, even, ago, that's what he'd told Dean to do. He'd handed him his baby brother, baby Sammy, and he'd told him to take care of him. That's what Dean was doing, in place of a father, in place of John. He was taking care of Sammy. _"Take care of my pain-in-the-ass little brother?"_ John swallowed. There was nothing he could do, he knew that. There was nothing even Dean, really there, really physical, holding Sam tight as if he could keep his brother alive with simply his hands and his willpower. _"Sam?" _

John was cold. Sammy Winchester was going, going, gone, and there was nothing to do, nothing he could have done. Nothing, nothing. _Nothing,_ he mind sang. _Nothing, nothing, nothing._

_"Sam. Sam? SAMMY!" _John Winchester would never forget, no matter how long his spirit - or his demon - lingered on, the look on Dean's face in that moment. That was the moment when the realization hit Dean. That was the moment Dean Winchester realized that Sam was gone, was gone, was never coming back. That was the moment that Dean realized that he had failed _(he had failed) _in his mission _(keep Sammy safe, protect Sammy, Sammy)_ and Sam, his Sam, his baby brother, his Sammy, was not alright and would never be alright again.

Sammy was gone.

John Winchester swallowed.

He did as he sometimes did and he wrote a journal entry - it had been so long since he'd physically put a pen to paper in his old journal, so long - in his head. His throat tight, he whispered it to himself, thought it in his head.

_I will never forget the look on Dean's face when Sam (died) passed. No matter how long my spirit lingers or my demons last, I will never, ever forget that look on his face. Terror is the only word to describe it. _

_Today was his birthday, Sam's. May the 2nd. Another birthday that I missed, but somehow, I think that this was the worst one._

_Today... Today my youngest son, Samuel John Winchester, (died) passed._

_Sammy took his last steps today. He walked towards Dean._


End file.
